


The AU Where Babe Is The Medic (A Bastogne Redux)

by luxover



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxover/pseuds/luxover
Summary: Gene watches Doc Heffron wrap the chocolate bar back up and stick it in his pocket without taking any for himself, and Gene is reminded of his grandma. She took care of people, same as Doc Heffron, and in another life, Gene supposes he would’ve, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://luxover.tumblr.com/post/157447030707/the-au-where-babe-is-the-medic-a-bastogne-redux) for Band of Brothers Week on tumblr.

Gene moves on auto-pilot, after Julian. He knows it’s no one’s fault, what happened, but it _feels_ like it’s his, somehow, and Gene supposes that’s what matters. **  
**

“Can’t think of it like that,” Spina says. They’re freezing in a hole together. Spina must’ve just known what he was thinking, because Gene hadn’t said anything, and keeps not saying anything.

Doc Heffron slides into the foxhole on Gene’s other side. He’s got something on his face that might be a smile if they were anywhere else but Bastogne, but they’re not anywhere else, and so Gene supposes it’s a grimace. Doc Heffron says, “Hey, guys.”

“Aw, c’mon, Babe,” Spina complains. He uses Gene’s shoulder as leverage to stand up, and Gene knows it’s because command chewed them out for sleeping two medics together. “Find your own foxhole next time.”

“Sorry, Ralph,” Doc Heffron says, but he doesn’t look all that sorry to Gene, and once Spina’s gone, Doc nudges him. “Hey, look what I got.”

Gene turns to him. Doc’s holding out a bar of chocolate. He looks real proud of himself, just then, looks real young, and all Gene can think of is Julian. Julian was young.

Doc Heffron starts breaking off a piece of the chocolate and presses it into Gene’s hand.

“No, thanks,” Gene says, but it’s not because of the blood caked under Doc Heffron’s finger nails. Doc rolls his eyes.

“Eat the damn chocolate, Gene,” he says, and since Gene is too tired to argue, he does.

“Thanks, Doc.” Gene presses closer into Doc Heffron’s side, imagining that he can feel his body heat. The ground is frozen beneath their bodies, and their breath hangs in the air in front of them.

“It’s _Babe_ , Jesus. My name?”

“Yeah,” Gene says. He watches Doc Heffron wrap the chocolate bar back up and stick it in his pocket without taking any for himself, and Gene is reminded of his grandma. She took care of people, same as Doc Heffron, and in another life, Gene supposes he would’ve, too.

“Y’alright?” Doc asks. His face is so pale, a stark contrast to his red nose.

Gene tells him, “You remind me of my grandma,” and Doc Heffron snorts.

“I ain’t that old, thanks,” he deadpans, and for just a flash in the pan, he looks like he might laugh. Gene wishes he did.

“No,” Gene says. He doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this. Maybe just so someone knows him, when he’s where Julian was. “She was a traiteuse. A cajun healer. Used to lay her hands on people and cure them. Took away sickness, cancer, you name it.”

“Sounds like a nurse I met back in town,” Doc Heffron says.

“Yeah? She pretty?” Gene asks.

Doc Heffron shrugs. “I guess.”

Gene wonders if he’s jealous that Doc gets to see nurses back in town, but then figures that he’s not, not really. He supposes that’s all there is to say, and so the two of them fall silent after that.

It’s hard to envy Doc Heffron for having to deal with so much blood all the time, but a part of Gene feels like he does, anyway. He’s good, their medic. Good at treating and fixing, and good with people in a way that Gene’s never been. But Doc Heffron’s also the last thing a lot of men see before they die, and Gene imagines that must eat away at him all day, and every night.

Julian eats away at Gene, and Julian’s just one person. Or he was, anyway.

“You’re good at this,” Gene tells him suddenly, but it’s only sudden in that he never meant to say it at all. “Healin’ people, I mean.”

“I dunno about that.”

There’s a downward turn to Doc Heffron’s lips. Gene almost tells him, _Julian wasn’t your fault_ , but Doc Heffron’s had dozens of Julians, and so Gene doesn’t bother.

“Fuckin’ freezing,” Doc Heffron complains under his breath. He shoves his hands under his armpits, jostling Gene. “I used to like the cold, back in Philly. You know? Get some hot chocolate, shove snow down the back of your buddy’s coat.”

A beat passes and neither of them says anything. Gene’s not talkative, not in the way Doc Heffron is, but he almost wants to be, when Doc is the one he’s talking to. Gene just likes him, is all, and so he struggles to keep the conversation going.

“I’d never seen snow until I joined up,” he says finally.

“Yeah?”

Gene nods his head. The bayou is hot, muggy, and he grew up running around in undershirts and the lightest trousers he owned, drinking all sorts of ice water and lemonade and sweet tea, sweating in the sun.

“Never left Louisiana,” Gene explains.

“Well,” Doc Heffron says easily, “you should come to Philly after all this is over, and I’ll show you around.”

“After all this,” Gene repeats blankly. _After all this_. Doc Heffron shouldn’t be saying things like that, no matter how nice they sound. The truth is that no one can promise there’ll even _be_ an _after all this_ for him, not Doc Heffron and not General Taylor, and after Hoobler, not even the Krauts. Doesn’t do Gene any good to start making plans.

“Then I’ll take the train to Louisiana,” Doc Heffron counters easily. “Whatever.”

“Babe,” Gene starts, but then changes his mind and instead says, “Yeah, maybe.” It’s as close as he can get without saying what he means, because he doesn’t like the sound of _We could both be dead tomorrow._

Doc Heffron must hear what Gene’s not saying, though, because he huffs out an approximation of a laugh. It’s voiceless but close enough, and hangs in the air in front of him.

“Nah, I know some things,” he says, and even as he does, Gene wonders who he’s saying it for: Gene or himself. Can’t be easy, patching them up, but Doc Heffron’s done it a heck of a lot, and Gene imagines that takes its toll. 

“No way for anyone to know about that,” Gene tells him.

Doc Heffron shrugs, and then switches topics by saying, “You called me Babe.”

“I did?” Gene asks. “When?”

“Just now.”

Gene nods to himself. “Babe.” He tries it out, worried he’ll like it too much.

“ _Babe_ ,” Doc Heffron echoes, imitating Gene’s voice. He fails miserably, but succeeds in putting a helium balloon in Gene’s chest. Doc Heffron is smiling wide enough to show his teeth, and Gene thinks he likes the looks of that more than anything else, more than the thought of a hot shower and hotter food, more than even a bed to lie on or a pair of dry socks.

It hits Gene then that he’s probably gone and fallen in love with Doc Heffron, and he hadn’t even seen it happening.

“Quit distractin’ me,” Gene tells him. He wants to put his thumb to the corner of Doc Heffron’s smile, the palm of his hand on Doc Heffron’s rounded cheek, and that’s a bad sign. Gene just lost Julian; he knows where caring will get him. “I’m trying to watch the line.”

Doc Heffron nods, although Gene only sees it out of the corner of his eye. He wonders if they could’ve been friends, he and Doc Heffron, if things had been different. He wonders what it is that they are now.

Doc Heffron pats Gene twice on the knee, and then leaves his hand where it is, right there on Gene’s leg. “You’ll love Philly.”

Gene stares hard out at the line. It’s freezing still, the kind of cold he couldn’t even imagine back on the bayou, but Doc Heffron’s hand is warm, somehow, even through Gene’s layers. Or maybe Gene’s imagining it. He probably is.

The line is quiet and still.

Gene lets out a breath, and lets Doc Heffron keep his hand where it is.


End file.
